I woke up feeling like a hangover had hit me without the courtesy of a good night out. My head throbbed gently, and I rubbed my temples as I tried to recall the blur of last night. Nothing. A mannequin stood beside my bed like some kind of silent judge, clothed in elegance. The black sleeveless vest and long striped trousers were my own masterpiece, paired perfectly with precision.
I reached for my phone. 11:00 AM.
"Oh crap," I muttered.
I was supposed to be at the Vogue banquet in an hour and a half. Cue the panic.
I sprang from bed like a possessed woman, rushing to wash up and throw the outfit on. The vest hugged my body perfectly, the trousers falling in place like they were born on me. I added my signature flair with bold red heels and a matching purse, topped with gold jewelry that whispered wealth without screaming it. A few swipes of deep red lipstick later, and I looked ready to walk into any fashion battlefield and win.
"CJ, I need you to pick me up. Like, now," I texted furiously.
He replied with his usual calm: "On my way."
Bless him.
I blew out my hair with expert speed, giving it the right mix of volume and bounce. By the time I was done, the event was about to start. As soon as CJ pulled up, I bolted into the car.
"Drive. I'm already late," I panted.
CJ, adrenaline junkie that he is, took that as permission to channel his inner Fast & Furious. I made a mental note to Venmo him extra for not launching us into the Hudson.
We screeched to a halt outside a grand banquet hall that looked like luxury and old money had a baby. Inside, I spotted familiar faces from past gigs and run-ins, all mingling in expensive suits and even more expensive egos.
I headed toward the main hall, the VIP section where the real giants of fashion feasted. This was Vogue's 130th anniversary, a celebration only thrown every decade or so. And this was the first time I had ever been invited.
I stepped inside, trying to channel every ounce of confidence I had. The table ahead looked like it belonged in a Renaissance painting, with couture-clad icons seated like royalty. My confidence wavered slightly under the weight of their stares.
"For an up-and-coming celebrity, you really should learn to be on time, dear," a sharp voice announced.
Charles Winston. Of course.
I forced a polite smile, lips parting to give him a witty comeback when-
"You can always respect someone who's fashionably late," another voice interjected.
Tony Stark.
He looked surprised to see me, but he had my back. I gave him a nod of gratitude and took the only empty seat at the table. Naturally, it was next to him.
This man was haunting my calendar lately. First the gala, then the last-minute suit commission, and now this banquet. It was getting out of hand. Not that I was complaining. Being at a table with people this influential made me realize that maybe, just maybe, I'd finally arrived where I wanted to be.
Tony leaned in and whispered, "Didn't know you were on the guest list."
"Of course I was," I replied, giving him a look. Was he trying to start something?
He smirked. "We really need to stop running into each other. You're starting to steal my spotlight."
I chuckled. "Well, I am better dressed."
He looked personally offended. "You made my suit."
"Exactly. I just do it better."
He scoffed and rolled his eyes, but a smirk tugged at his lips.
A voice from across the table interrupted us.
"Ahem. Y/N, you're a fashion designer, right?"
It was Audrey Pam. As in the Audrey Pam. The undisputed queen of haute couture. And she was speaking to me.
"Yes," I said quickly, trying not to sound like I was dying inside.
"Oh, my apologies Madam Pam. I'm a huge fan of yours," I added.
She chuckled. "Sweetheart, no need for flattery. Call me Pam."
She took a sip of her wine and set the glass down with a soft clink.
"Say, darling, you clearly have a gift. I've been looking for fresh talent like yours. How would you feel about working with me?"
I blinked. I was pretty sure time stopped for a second.
"I- oh my goodness. I would love that," I gushed, my face practically glowing.
"Wonderful. I'll be flying to France next week. That's where the studio is. We can set you up there."
Hold up.
"Wait. France?" I echoed, stunned.
"Of course. You'll adore it."
I laughed nervously. "I... I can't go to France."
Her brow arched ever so slightly.
"I'm truly sorry, Pam. It's just... everything I know and love is here. New York is home. I grew up here. I can't just leave it all behind."
The table was dead silent. I could feel their gazes like heat rays.
She leaned forward slightly, eyes piercing. "Word of advice, dear. You'll never get far if you're too afraid to move."
Ouch.
"Think it over. You've got until next week," she added, voice smooth like silk but with the weight of a business deal inked in blood.
"Sure... I'll think about it," I said, my smile faltering.
Once the dinner ended, I made my way to the balcony to catch my breath. The city lights twinkled below. I hummed a melody that brought me comfort, letting the cool night air calm my nerves.
"Everything alright?"
I turned. Tony.
"Yeah," I replied quietly, too tired to insult him like usual.
He didn't say anything for a moment. Just sipped his chardonnay, gaze lost somewhere in the skyline.
"How'd you deal with it?" I asked suddenly. "Starting Stark Industries, I mean. Or people throwing you life-changing opportunities that meant leaving everything behind."
He raised an eyebrow, but his voice was honest.
"First off, no one tells me what to do. Secondly, I built my empire my way. I didn't need a sponsor, and definitely not some industry locking me up in chains."
He looked at me then. "If you're waiting for permission, you're already losing."
I nodded slowly.
"Yeah... the thing is, I'm not Tony Stark."
"Well, thank God for that," he quipped, grinning.
I laughed, just a little. And for the first time that night, I actually felt like I could breathe.
Maybe I didn't need to be him. Maybe I just needed to be the version of me that wasn't afraid to take the leap.
The only question left was: would I?